


Aruetii

by ChopsHitch



Series: House of Memories [4]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin has anger issues, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jealous Paz Vizsla, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Paz Vizsla, Young Din Djarin, Young Paz Vizsla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChopsHitch/pseuds/ChopsHitch
Summary: He felt Paz’s hand reach up to cradle around his neck as he so often did, and Din wished he could say all that he truly felt. But his words were never made to be kind, his actions less so, which had been left so blatantly evident by the scar on Paz’s face and while Paz knew him, truly knew him, he wished for once Paz could read his mind.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla
Series: House of Memories [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059317
Comments: 11
Kudos: 102





	Aruetii

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a translations:  
> Aruetii - traitor, foreigner, outsider  
> Buir - non-gendered term for parent  
> Burc'ya - friend (also used ironically, as in this instance)  
> Kaysh mirsh solus - He's an idiot (literally - his brain cell is lonely)  
> Utreekov - fool, idiot (literally - empty headed)  
> N'eparavu takisit - sorry (literally - I eat my insult) 
> 
> I also have my own head cannon that when Din is extremely angry, he speaks in his native language, which would now be considered dead as his planet was destroyed. I'm a happy little ball of fluff aren't I.

Din was angry. No, Din was beyond angry, Din was _livid_ , his small body radiating an immense hatred. He held his knife out as if it was an extension of his arm, the movement fluid and natural. His grip on the handle tighter than normal and Paz was sure that if his helmet had been off, his eyes would be burning with fire, his face distorted in anger and his mind geared ready for battle. 

He reached out and squeezed Din’s shoulder, trying to get him back in the moment. Instead, the smaller Mandalorian turned and held the knife to Paz’s own throat, his movements unflinching and deadly. Paz gulped as he felt the knife trembling at his jugular. Paz removed his hand from Din’s shoulder and held both of them up in some of surrender, hoping to the Maker that Din could calm down enough to appreciate the gesture. 

Din pulled the knife back slightly, snarling. His attention fixed on Paz but not forgetting the boy behind him, the one who had managed to rile him up to this set, succumbing to his anger quickly and set them down the course of this exchange. His empty hand reached for the vibroblade he had strapped to his back. 

“Maker, Djarin, can’t you take a _joke_?” Xoem hissed at him, reaching for a vibroblade of his own, knocking over his drink in the now silent cantina, other Mandalorians watching the exchange, half amused, half bored. It was not uncommon for brawls to erupt when Mandalorians drank, and this little spat was nothing new to them. 

Din dropped his knife from Paz’s neck and turned back to face Xoem, removing his hand from his vibroblade and instead cocking his head, his knife resting lazily at his side. Xoem kept his fingers around the hilt of his vibroblade that was sheathed at his thigh. 

“Jokes are _funny_ ,” he snarled at the other boy. Din didn’t miss the way that Xoem’s body shook lightly, in fear or anticipation, could almost hear the sweat trickle down his forehead. He knew this reaction from the bounties he had been on with his buir, from the occasional mission he had been on with Paz. If he hadn’t had been so angry, he would have found it funny, found Xoem pathetic but his mind was clouded and closed with a consuming blind rage and his body was almost acting on autopilot. Behind him he felt Paz reach out for him again, his reach just stopping short of his shoulder, almost afraid to touch him again. Din was glad, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop himself from attacking Paz if he touched him again. 

“You need to lighten up, _burc’ya_ , one day you might _snap_ and kill someone. It’s only a matter of time, everyone already knows you’re crazy-” Xoem was cut off, as Din closed the distance between them and pressed the knife into Xoem’s pulse point in his neck, the tip almost breaking skin. He gulped but carried on talking. “Everyone knows that you’re just the wild foundling that couldn’t be tamed, even your buir knows that. _You don’t belong here_.” 

Din brought his knee to Xoem’s crotch and head butted him in one smooth movement, dropping the knife from the pulse point, dropping to a crouch, and swinging his legs underneath Xoem’s, effectively causing the other boy to fall back in a daze. Din stood up quickly and sheathed the knife to his thigh and turned to walk away, pure hatred seeped out of his pores and anger echoing in every step he took away. 

Paz looked down at the broken table and watched as Xoem lifted his hand to his neck, as if to check that Din hadn’t actually slit his throat. “You’re lucky.” He muttered down to him, turned, and handed over a couple of credits to the bartender and went to follow Din. 

When he finally caught up to him, outside in the dark night, Din was hissing to himself in a dead language that Paz didn’t understand, marching on ahead and ignoring Paz’s presence behind him, out of reach. Din slowed when they had reached the secluded beach that they had found when they were younger, picking up a rock and throwing it angrily into the ocean. Paz had to admire the strength behind the throw, admire the way Din’s body became the ultimate weapon when he was like this. 

Din had stopped talking in the dead language, instead pacing along the shoreline, struggling to remember his ground techniques when his head was still in a haze and his body was still itching for a fight. He shouldn’t have let Xoem get under his skin, should have ignored the blatant attempt at trying to get him riled up, he should have remembered the calming techniques that his buir had taught him, late one night when he had awoken from another nightmare. But he didn’t and before he knew it, he was seeing red and had his knife in his hand, ready to strike. The truth was, he couldn’t even _remember_ what Xoem had said that had gotten him this angry in the first place, just reacted on instinct and gotten carried away in the wild way he often did. 

But then, Xoem had spoken again, just as he was trying to calm himself down, because he had almost attacked _Paz_ and that was not okay, not matter how many times Paz had told him over the years that it was alright. And when Xoem had spoken, he had said all the things that Din believed true in his heart, that he didn’t belong, that he was crazy and that his head didn’t work right, as if he was Din’s personal demon coming to taunt him. Din had always tried to kill his demons, Xoem should have been no exception, except Paz was standing behind him, watching him and he knew that if he had even drawn blood on his other Mandalorian, Paz would have been disappointed and that wouldn’t do either. He could have lived with killing Xoem, it wouldn’t be his first kill and it certainly wouldn’t be he last, but Din knew that Paz would blame himself for the altercation, blame himself for not speaking up to defuse the situation, blame himself for Xoem lying dead on the floor, rather than Din for killing him and Din didn’t need that guilt on top of everything else. 

He stopped instantly when Paz reached out and pulled him into a hug, his fingers twitching by his side, ghosting over the hilt of his knife. Paz was his _friend_ he reminded his body; Paz was safe. He felt his fingers still. He sighed quietly and then pulled out of Paz’s embrace, the fight drained out of him. He took a few steps away and sat in the sand, unstrapping the vibroblade from his back and lying it carefully on the sand. Next, he took off his gloves and boots, placing them beside the vibroblade, and then removed him vambraces, placing them on top. Paz sat next to him and watched as he stripped, effectively and heard him swallow whatever words he had been going to speak. Finally, he rolled up his sleeves and then dropped his gaze to his wrists, eyes darting across the scars that decorated them. He closed his eyes and started focusing on his breathing, willing his body to become calmer, for his heart to become stiller. 

When he opened his eyes, Paz was sitting across from him, in a similar state of undress, holding out his naked hand, waiting for Din to reach out and touch him, silently telling him that he was alright now, he had calmed and probably wouldn’t attack him again. It had been their tradition for years, and Din lightly brushed his fingers against Paz’s. He felt rather than saw Paz’s smile, wishing that he could just see Paz’s face again, just see that reassuring smile. But they had sworn the Creed and Paz’s face was hidden from him. 

“You are still angry, Din’ika.” Paz stated across from him, well versed in Din’s body language, having deciphered it long ago. 

“Yes.” There was no point lying. He closed his eyes again, and leant back, feeling the sand shift between his fingers and toes. Focused on the feeling, using it to keep him in this moment rather than focusing on the anger he still fee clutched around his heart. 

“Kaysh mirsh solus.” Paz whispered angrily. Din felt himself chuckle, always finding it amusing when Paz let himself get angry on his behalf. 

“He’s a utreekov.” He agreed, once again flexing his fingers into the sand, feeling it move and being reminded of where he was. He felt Paz move closer, his hand finding his feet, touching them lightly. 

“I should have killed him,” Paz grit out, his hands travelling up Din’s legs, sliding against his thighs; Din opened his eyes and watched as Paz crawled up his body, like a wild animal capturing its prey. He snorted at the irony. Paz looked at him, questioningly. Din shrugged, and bucked his hips, urging Paz to continue touching him. 

Paz don’t need a further invitation, hands back grazing Din’s thighs as he lay back in the sand resting on his elbows watching. Paz’s touch was more grounding than the sand. Din sighed as Paz’s fingertips reached his stomach, brushing lightly on the sensitive skin that was normally hidden there. Paz’s fingers made quick work of his zipper and underwear, gently stroking his cock, making him hard and his heart race. 

“Close your eyes and keep them shut.” He ordered, his voice like velvet in Don’s ears. He nodded, content to do anything Paz told him to do without question. He trusted Paz with his life, there wasn’t an order Paz would give that he wouldn’t obey. “You need to promise.” He growled as he gave Din’s cock a loose tug. 

Din groaned at the contact. “Promise.” He whispered as he shut his eyes, made sure to squeeze them shut tightly. He heard Paz’s helm hiss as he lifted it off, over his head and revealing his face. Din moaned, wanting nothing more than to open his eyes, study the face before him, look at the slither of a scar that went from his ear to his chin, a permanent reminder of Din on Paz’s skin and squeezed his eyes shut tighter than he thought possible. 

And then he gasped, as Paz took his cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and lowering his head. “Maker!” He moaned as he dropped his head back, his fingers finding their way to Paz’s head, tangling themselves in his hair. Paz hummed around his cock and Din felt his hips buck of their own accord, desperate for the warmth Paz’s mouth offered. Paz’s hands griped his hips tightly, enough to bruise and held them in place. He lifted his head up, dropped Din’s cock out of his mouth and looked up at the picture before him; Don’s head dropped back in pleasure, his breathing wild and erratic and a whisper of Paz’s name on his lips. He felt his cock twitch. 

His mouth quickly returned to Don’s cock and Din’s grip tightened on his hair, willing his hips to stay still as Paz’s mouth engulfed his cock and _sucked_. He moaned and his body shuddered at the pleasure that was slowly overtaking his body, washing away any traces is residual anger and hatred. All he could focus on was the mouth around his cock, the feel of Paz’s tongue as it swirled around his head and teasing the sensitive skin there. He felt his hips try and buck again, but Paz’s grip tightened and held them steady. 

The loss of his sight, with the addition of Paz’s mouth on his cock almost deemed too much, overwhelming his senses until all could remember was Paz; his touch and his kindness, the jealousy that he denied he possessed when Din had questioned him about their rough sparring sessions and the protective streak that he tried his best to contain, knowing that Din didn’t need his help to fight his battles but wanting to be by his side regardless.

Din bucked into his mouth as one of Paz’s hands wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking where his mouth could not reach. Din squirmed and fought against his eyes opening. “P-Paz...” he whimpered as the sensations once again swept over his body. He felt Paz moan around his cock. The feeling was glorious. He could feel his climax slowly creeping over his body, started in his toes that were buried deep in the sand, in his fingertips that almost painfully pulled on Paz’s hair. Paz picked up speed as Din moaned loudly, louder than he normally allowed himself.

“I should have killed him.” Paz’s gruff voice echoed in his head as he came in Paz’s mouth, spilling down his throat. Paz gagged around his cock and gagged slightly, but still swallowed around Din’s cock for the last time, swallowing Din’s cum and causing Din’s hips to squirm at the overstimulation. Slowly, Din felt his cock drop out of Paz’s mouth and he lay back in the sand silently, releasing his hold of Paz’s hair, panting as he caught his breath. He heard Paz chuckle as he lay beside him. 

“Give me some warning next time, Din’ika.” He laughed; Din wished once again that he could open his eyes, and look at Paz’s face as he laughed, like he had done when they were children. The wish alone felt like breaking the Creed, so he kept his eyes closed.

“N'eparavu takisit,” Din whispered his apology, fumbling as he put his cock back in his pants and wishing he felt worse about surprising Paz than he did. Paz just laughed again; the sound lighter than he remembered without the modulator filtering the noise. Din sighed. He felt Paz move beside him, wondered what he could possibly be doing now and silently waited. 

“You can open your eyes now,” Paz said from beside him, and Din blinked, his eyes adjusting to light once again. He rolled to his side, seeing the tent pitched in Paz’s pants and feeling guilty that he hadn’t thought of Paz’s pleasure once while Paz had been milking his orgasm from him. He rolled onto his side and reached out to touch him, but Paz stilled his hand. “It’s okay, Din’ika,” he breathed as Din’s fingers ghosted over his cock. 

Din growled at him. “You got me off, it’s only fair.” He argued, trying his best to touch Paz. Paz just chuckled and stroked Din’s wrist that was still held in his hand, his fingers brushing over the scars that were there.

“It wasn’t about that tonight, I just wanted to help you.” He murmured, studying Din intently. “You get so stuck in your head, all the time and I just want to help you let go for a while. I just want to give you some peace.”

Din didn’t know what to say, instead choosing to climb on top of Paz, straddling him and pressing their foreheads together. When Paz had first performed the gesture on them, when they were just children, he hadn’t known what it had meant, but he did now. He felt Paz’s hand reach up to cradle around his neck as he so often did, and Din wished he could say all that he truly felt. But his words were never made to be kind, his actions less so, which had been left so blatantly evident by the scar on Paz’s face and while Paz knew him, _truly_ knew him, he wished for once Paz could read his mind.

  
“You belong here, Din’ika.”

Din felt a low growl forming in his throat because _no_ , he _didn’t_. He didn’t know how many times he would have to tell Paz this, argue until they were both blue in the face and getting nowhere. He was a Mandalorian in all the values that matter, but he was not a Mandalorian in his heart.

“You belong _here,_ with _me_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at writing slash, you read it here first folks! 
> 
> Din Djarin will forever have some form of PTSD in my mind, and while he's really worked on it, he's still gonna get triggered occasionally. Paz just cares too damn much. 
> 
> In my head, I have so much story line for these two before, during and set after season 2 (CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE FINALE THOUGH BECAUSE I HAVE TOO MANY FEELINGS), so I hope that you all continue to enjoy what I'm writing. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support you've shown me so far, please continue to comment because they all mean the world to me so so much!


End file.
